Cupid
by Starkraven Madd
Summary: Hitmen and assassins. Lucius Malfoy may have expossed the Wizarding world...deliberately. Someone has been hired to kill TheBoyWhoLived. Strange dreams have been plaguing Harry. Are they all connected?
1. Cupid

_Note_: I'm not sure if this will be a seperate story or just a section of chapters in my Secrete Lies stories (of which there will only be two). Yeah, I know I need to get a move on with the next chapter in Secret Lies, but it's hard when there are so many stories out there that are great to read. Eh.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Which I think is rather obvious. As good as I can be at times when it comes to writing, I'm not nearly as reliable as JKR. I have an original story, three part novel actually, that is completely written in my head. That doesn't help much when it's not on paper.

So let me know if I should continue this as it's own little story.

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**Cupid**

Dreams 'N Demise

1622 words

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"Do you believe in fairytales, Agent Smith?" The mysterious man dressed in black with long, flowing white-blonde hair and cold, ice blue/grey eyes asked. 

Smith eyed the man warily, not expected anything useful to be forthcoming. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before indulging the man sitting before him. "No. Fairytales are for children who still believe in such things."

Smith glanced at the tape recorder. He knew that his name was scratched into the bottom of it, having claimed it when he first transferred to the department. They'd been at it for over an hour.

"Are you going to tell me one?" He asked with slight interest. It would be the first time the man actually told him something worth listening to in the past 3 hours since Smith had brought him in; even though in the last hour the man had been talking almost constantly. Rather or not it would be valid to the case had nothing to do with his sudden spark of interest.

"What use are fairytales to me when I know the truth?" The man asked with a coy grin and he sat back in his chair. "I merely asked because without the belief in fairytales what I am about to tell you will be quite hard to believe."

The man looked rather pleased with himself, Smith noted. He was more than interested now. He'd been working in this dead in department for 3 years. He found it rather amusing that his first real break in any of the leads they were supposed to be following would show after 3 hours. He seemed to be big on threes this year. _Three and 33; the number of years I've been in the department, number of hours I've been in this very same chair, my birth date, oh, and of course, my age. I'm plagued by threes._

The blonde continued unaware of Smith's internal conversation. "Everything you ever thought was just some _fairytale_ for children who still hold dreams within their naïve little minds are real. Dragons, witches and wizards; enchanted swords and armor; it's all real."

_

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She was on another job. Only this one paid a lot better than the last. The pay had to be better in order for her to take on such a high profile and dangerous task and only half up front would do. So of course she'd taken the money; living expenses had become rather high lately. She blamed that on the new contractor. But seeming as he was paying her for the current job, and rather handsomely at that, she couldn't find the room to complain.

Brushing an arrant strand of curly, black hair from her face she adjusted her magically enhanced shades to get a better look at the target. He was young. Younger than she was usually called in on. Though, that wasn't what had dragged the job out for the past two weeks. Sure, she'd killed plenty for the money. It was what she was good at, it was her life, her job. She just never had to kill a 16 year-old boy who supposedly was the 'Savior' of the world. Not just the wizarding world, but the entire world. Everyone knew, even if they were reluctant to admit it, that the Dark Lord Voldemort wanted to take over the planet.

Why was she doing a job for him? Everyone needed to live. It was a proven fact that wizards paid more than muggles. With this pay alone she was set for the rest of her life without having to budget. That was only counting half of the pay. But that still didn't answer why she took on the job of killing or mortally wounding **the** Harry Potter for the one and only Tom Marvolo Riddle. No, she didn't know the answer to that question.

It wasn't like she needed the money. The jobs she'd pulled in the past had paid well enough that when combined doubled what she had received from Voldemort. Maybe she could pull a farce and save him instead. _What then? _She thought. _And be on the run for the rest of my life. I kinda like my freedom._ Being a witch had it's perks. Especially in her line of work. She didn't have to worry about being caught by muggles. At least not at the moment. She had a feeling that they were getting a lot smarter, but were only focusing on things other than hit men/women and assassins.

"I've been watching you for two weeks, Harry James Potter." She whispered to herself from her perch on the roof of _The Leaky Cauldron._ "And you've yet to do anything truly interesting. How boring you are." She rolled over on her back, not willing to kill the intended victim just yet. _Too many damn wizards. _Diagon Alley wasn't the ideal place to make a hit. She'd be knee deep in trouble before she even got off the roof.

She checked her watch. It was only one in the afternoon and she needed to get out of there before the heat of the sun fried her brains. She lunched herself into a standing position in order to apparate to the flat she was renting in the middle of London.

Her back was to the Alley so she never noticed the young man looking up at the figure disappearing from the roof of the _Leaky Cauldron._

.0.o.0.o.o.0.o.0. 

Harry Potter was having the same dream over and over again every night for nearly two weeks. He didn't think they had anything to do with Voldemort. His scar didn't hurt or itch any more than usual. Yet he couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that had arose with the on-slot of the--_nightmares?_ He wasn't sure what to call them.

When he had told Ron and Hermione about the dreams and then about how he felt like he was being constantly watched when they were out, they had only told him he was being paranoid.

Perhaps he was.

He didn't think so, though. There was just something to the dreams that made them eerily familiar and seem slightly real. They were like the visions he got from Voldemort, only less painful, but just as stressing. What was he going to do if they turned out to be right?

He could remember feeling bored while watching himself, but there seemed to be a reason of great impotence behind it. The person in his dreams was trying to kill him. Only it wasn't like the usual kidnap-torture-promise to kill themes of the 'normal' dreams he had. These were more like the muggle movies where there was a hired assassin out to kill someone from far off and had all the skill and ability in the world to get away with it.

That's what was freaking him out the most. This mystery person could be anywhere nearby and he would never know it.

"Harry!" He heard Ron yelling in his face.

He blinked and looked up nearly jumping out of his skin. "Merlin, Ron!" he exclaimed as he tried to regain his breath. "Don't be so close next time."

Ron and Hermione shared a look then turned their questioning gazes on him. "You okay, mate?" Ron said placing a hand on his shoulder in what would have been a comforting gesture if he wasn't so wound up.

Harry shrugged from the grip. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." He looked to each of the two plastering a smile on his face.

Hermione looked at him oddly. "Are you sure, Harry?" She said in her overly concerned mothering voice.

"Yeah, just peachy." he sighed. "What is it that you wanted?"

"Just wondering what you wanted to do next. We've got all of our school supplies and such. We could always check out the Qudditch supplies." He said a little too hopeful.

Hermione scoffed. "Oh really, Ron. Do you think of anything other than Qudditch? No! Don't even answer that." she said, stopping him with is mouth half open. "I know, why don't we spend the rest of the day in muggle London. Show you around and everything. You'll know. . ."

Harry had tuned them out as they stepped out of _Flourish and Blots. _He looked up, noting how wonderful the weather had been all day compared to the dreary, rainy days of the past week. He was lost in thought as the group slowly made their way to the _Leaky Cauldron._ He started to feel uncomfortable, like someone was watching them. There were so many people in the alley that he couldn't be sure if it was for real this time or just his paranoid imagination over working.

It wasn't until he looked up at the sound of his name being called did he see the figure above the _Leaky Cauldron_ disappear. His thoughts started running a mile a minute and he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with him. _But then_, he thought, _every mysterious figure has something to do with me_. They always come back to bite him on the arse.

.0.o.0.o.o.0.o.0.

Charlette "Cupid" Rosengurd -- aka Charlie Rose -- aparated into her flat. Stripping out of her black leather body suit that had a permanent cooling charm placed on it, she made a bee line for the shower. She was also hungry, having not eaten since breakfast of which after she embarked on her watch of the Potter boy.

"Ah, yes, I can clearly see what . . . appeal that you may have." came Luscious' drawling voice.

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**END**--maybe, maybe not . 

So, what did you think? Crap? Good? Okay? Needs work? Of course it needs work. Everything I write needs work. But alas, I have a chaalenge to complete along with working on the next chapter to Secret Lies. R&R. Later.


	2. Dressy

**Note:** This chapter may seem a bit odd, but I assure you, it'll all connected with chapter one in either the next chapter or chapter 4.

.o.o.

**Disclaimer: **I am not the very popular, very lucky, JKR. My initials are SRR. No confusion there.**  
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1298 words

**Chapter 2**: Dressy

"David, she's been accepted." 

It was all that was said before the line went dead. David hung up the phone. This would be their first successful infiltration. Now all they had to do was make sure she came out alive. The last one they sent in was too weak to survive and they had been reluctant to send another. That was nearly two decades ago.

David walked away from his desk. In the dim light of the desk lamp, he stepped to the file cabinet, unlocked and opened the top draw. He pulled out the only file it held.

He had been the main investigator on this case for nearly 30 years. Certain unexplainable things had happened in and during World War II that warranted the Order's attention. It was his first long-term assignment, one that was ongoing. He was to find out clues and information that would either explain or at least confirm some of his brethren's suspicions. So far, all that he could confirm was that there happened to be a group of people (how large they did not know for sure) that lived even more in secret than themselves.

Some years after David had been assigned the case strange things had started to happen in London again. They fit the pattern of the previous activities in the last Great War. He put together a team of younger members to go out into the field and investigate more thoroughly. A couple of his people came back with their memories altered.

Though he wasn't all too sure what type of powers these people had, David knew he had to get 'watchers' in to keep track of it. The problem, now that the happenings had started again, was getting someone on the inside. There wasn't much a sixteen-year-old could do, though David was sure she could relay what was necessary. Even then, David wasn't too keen on sending in a child to do what he'd rather be able to have an adult do. The fact remained; this secret society seemed to accept children far easier than it did grown men and women.

Not wanting to spend the rest of the night thinking on it, he moved back to his desk and placed the file in his briefcase. Checking to make sure he had everything, David turned out the lights and left the office.

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A young girl was sitting at the octagonal kitchen table in the breakfast nook of a fairly large size kitchen. She was starring forlornly at the orange and green striped plate before her. Her breakfast--which consisted of eggs, grits, and bacon-- sat cooling as she absentmindedly used her fork to play with it.

The letter was still on the table, written on faded yellow parchment--something right out of the old days. It was specifically addressed to her. At first, she wasn't sure what it was when her dad handed it to her; she never got letters anymore. Then she read the cover: **_Miss Dresden Niamh MacGregor -- Second largest bedroom._** Who would address a letter like that? Maybe her dad was just playing a joke. However, that wasn't it at all. She couldn't believe it, a boarding school, in Scotland, for magic! Moreover, she was due to meet with its Headmaster within hours.

Dresden let her head slip out of her hand to fall to the tabletop, narrowly missing the plate, though jarring the glass of orange juice enough that it would have fallen. If a hand had not shot-out and stopped it.

"Cheer up Dressy. It wont be that bad," said the voice that came with the hand. It was deep, yet soft and gentle and carried an air of amusement.

"Dad," she whined. "Don't call me that." It came out slightly muffled as her head was still pressed against the table.

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear in order to whisper, "You're getting hair in your food." He then proceeded to kiss the top of her head, smoothing out the dark brown, loose curls.

She sat up straight, pushing her hair out of her face with both her hands. Opening her unusual light green eyes in time to see her dad take a seat across from her she frowned. "Do I have to go?"

Taking in her serious expression and the tone in her voice, Æmiel knew to tread carefully. "Your mother would want you to go," he knew that it was rather low of him to bring his ex-wife into this, but it got Dresden's attention. "She taught you everything she could before she left."

Dresden lit up with that revelation. Æmiel rarely, if ever, talked about her mother. She only knew a few things about the two when they were together and remembered even less from before her mother left them. Her dad just wasn't one for dwelling on the past; especially when it was personal.

What she could remember were some of the stories Jessica, her mother, told Dresden about the time before she and Æmiel were married. Her favourite of those retellings was of how they had met. She smiled wistfully at the memory of her mother dressing up in the same clothes she'd worn to a vampiric Goth club when she'd been searching of a friend of her grandpa-David's. The club had burned down and Æmiel had pulled Jessica away from the fire, saving her from the falling debris caused by the collapse of the building.

Her mother was beautiful with her fiery hair, slender petit form and green eyes. Jessica had disappeared a few years ago. Not even grandpa-David knew where she was. Dresden blamed her mother for their having to move back to England. She blamed Jessica for a lot of things. Including whatever problems they had and those that would come. Her father would be happy and less focused on his work if her mother hadn't left. In-fact, Dresden was sure she wouldn't be sitting there trying to talk her way out of going to some school of magic, being the new student yet again, if her mother was there.

"So this isn't just some kind of joke that you and grandpa-David and the others are playing on me? I mean, I know I can do things and see things that I shouldn't be able to, but so can all of your friends." Se was hoping that it was just a joke. As much as he dad was getting on her teenaged nerves, she loved him entirely too much to be gone away for nine months in a boarding school no less.

Æmiel signed and let a soft smile cover his lips. "It's no joke, honey. Your grandpa-David received a letter just like this one," he said picking up the Hogwarts letter from his daughter's willing hands. "His parents were too religious to let him go though. Even though he was already doing things against their religion he made sure to hide it. And plus, a string of murders had started just a bit before related to this letter--"

"Dad! You're not helping." Dresden glared at him.

He chuckled. "Sorry. I'm sure its alright now," he internally winced at the lie. The whole reason of their move back to the "old country" was because of things involving the letter was _not_ alright.

He stood up, placed the letter back in front of her, and with one lingering caress to his daughter's head he walked out of the kitchen with a "Just think about it," said over his shoulder.

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**End Chapter**

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**A.N.** Next chapter up soon. I wanted to post this tonight, so I left it as is. I'm sleepy, so I'm not writing the next part until tomorrow. I might post this weekend for both **Secret Lies** and this one. **Muddblood of Slytherin** is on temporary hiatus for now. I'm just too busy to keep up with 3 stories. **Review please.**


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